The Art of Letting Go
by Unspoken Tragedy
Summary: After returning to the Dursleys, Harry finds that he has lost the will to live. When the savior of the wizarding world commits suicide and breaks the prophesy, those left behind must win the war without him. And Harry's friends must learn to let him go.
1. A World Unworthy

**Title: The Art of Letting Go**

**Author: Unspoken Tragedy**

**Rating: PG-13, for suicidal themes and death**

**Spoilers: All five books**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own 'em.**

**Summery: ****After returning to the Dursleys, Harry finds that he has lost the will to live. When the savior of the wizarding world commits suicide and breaks the prophesy, those left behind must win the war without him. And Harry's friends must learn to let him go. **

**Series: None******

**A/N: Most of this was written months ago and I had decided not to go on with this plot... But then I saw the plot bunny suffering from neglect and I had to do something about it before he died. He's now healthy again, never fear. **

**For info on updates on my other stories and just me in personal check out my journal:**

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**The Art of Letting Go**

_"I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE-"_

_ He seized the table on which the silver instruments had stood and threw that too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions._

_ "You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."_

_ "I- DON'T!" Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him to; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside Harry._

_ "Oh yes, you do," said Dumbledore, still more calmly. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care."_

_-Harry Potter and the Order of the __Phoenix___

_Page 824, paragraphs 4 through 8_

_ "THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES… AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THAT THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT… AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES… THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…"_

_-Harry Potter and the Order of __Phoenix___

_Page 841, paragraph 2_

_-.-_

Harry Potter lay silently on his bed at the Dursley's house on Pivet drive, staring at the ceiling blankly. Ever since he had gotten there, which was over two weeks ago, he had gotten absolutely _no _mail, despite all his letters to the order. The Dursleys had been avoiding him like the plague after their little "chat" with the order, and even stopped giving him chores.

Despite all the times in the past in which he had wished that they _would _just leave him alone, their avoidance stung. It was rather depressing when the only family you have left hated you so much that they would not even say two words to you. In fact, Harry's whole existence could very well be labeled "depressing".

His parents had died when he was only a baby, leaving him absolutely _no_ memory of them, save the scenes of their death that dementors invoked. The only parent he had ever known was killed only mere weeks before, and it had been entirely Harry's fault.

And that was not the only death that Harry was to blame for… A year prior he had also led a fellow student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to his death at the hands of the evil Lord Voldemort.

Life was a prison for him now, dark, cold and empty. He wanted it over. But no, he was _too important_ to be given the precious gift of death. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Bloody-Well-Better-Kill-Voldemort-Or-It-Was-The-End-Of-The-World.

Well, he didn't care. He didn't care for the friends who wouldn't even write him, even though they knew he must be having a hard time of things. He didn't care for the Order of the Phoenix, who only protected him to save their own petty lives. And he certainly didn't care for the wizarding world which he was supposed to save, who hated him when he appeared vulnerable, only to love him again when he did something heroic. It was _they_ who created the Dark Lord after all, with their petty prejudices and hatred of the Slytherin house.

He didn't care for the muggle world either, riddled with whores, killers, child abusers and rapists. How ironic. He was being asked to give up everything he had, just to save a world which was not even _worth_ being saved.

What had this world done for _him_? Ah yes, it took his parents, his godfather, forced him to live with relatives who hated his guts and then asked him to save it. Well they could find a _new_ savoir.

Because Harry Potter had had enough. Life was too much to bear; they had no right to ask him to bear it alone. It was so hard getting up in the morning… So hard trying to move on.

But he wouldn't have to bear it much longer, for this time he was taking his life into his _own_ hands, instead of letting everyone run it for him. He pulled out the knife he had hidden under his pillow after the first week he'd been back at the Dursleys', and slashed it deeply through his left wrist and forearm. The knife fell onto the bed, as he let go of it shakily, but he was not done yet. He took it up again and slashed through his right wrist and forearm. Then he lay back onto the bed and closed his eyes, falling into the deep dark oblivion called death.

-.-

As Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, going through his daily correspondence, a shrill shriek emitted from one of the tiny instruments on his desk. He took up the instrument, a Sedalia stone, and gasped as he saw the color that the stone had taken up.

It glowed ominously a deep blood red, indicating that Harry Potter was in grave peril. Strangely, however, the wards placed at his place of residence had not been tripped. 'So, it must be someone living _at_ the house that's the threat,' he thought as he rushed to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder. Great emerald flames shot out from them and he stepped into them shouting for the Order headquarters.

Entering Headquarters, he shouted for all that might be present, "HARRY'S IN TROUBLE! CALL THE REST AND GET TO PIVET DRIVE AS SOON AS YOU CAN!" Mere seconds later, he was gone again, apparating away to Pivet Drive to save the world's hero.

What he found upon arriving in the Dursley living room was the least like what he'd expected to find: three muggles staring at him horrified after being pried away from some television show that they'd been watching.

"Now look here, old man-" Vernon started, only to be cut of by the very one he was addressing.

"Where is Harry?"

"Up in his room. Why does it matter where the boy is? He's perfectly _fine_," he spat out in reply.

"I have reason to believe otherwise," Albus replied grimly, as he whirled on his heel and rushed down the hallway and up the stairs.

When he reached the internally locked door, he did not hesitate to perform a simple unlocking spell and blasted the door away instead. What occupied the room horrified him beyond belief.

Lying on the immaculately made bed was a rather small, dark haired boy. Around him was a pool of blood, and a smile rested on his pale lips out of which shallow breaths were emitted. Blood was draining quickly from the young wizard's body from two long slashes up each arm.

Albus rushed to the bedside, noting the bloody blade lying in the palm of one upturned hand. He ripped a length off the blanket which hand not been drenched and wrapped it around one bleeding appendage, repeating the action for the other. Yet the boy's life force still seeped through, and Albus was no expert on healing. He _needed_ a healer, but moving the boy could prove fatal in this state.

So he did the only thing he could do, he wrapped the cloth even tighter around the dieing boy's forearms and turned to find the Dursleys staring in horrified wonderment at their charge. "I must go summon a healer," he said quickly, "if the blood starts to stain the cloth more, change it, with bandages if you can find them." As he was about to apparate again, he heard a shaky voice behind him.

"Couldn't we call an ambulance?" Petunia spoke up.

"No."

"But what if you don't come back in time?" Vernon snapped impatiently. He certainly didn't like the boy, but sitting around and watching him die was far from what he wanted to be doing on a Sunday evening.

"Others will be arriving soon." Albus Dumbledore was gone again.

Within seconds the house was filled with the pop of witches and wizards appearing in the dining room below.

A resounding shout of "Harry!" filled the house, as they searched for any sign of disturbance.

"Up here!" called Dudley, thankful to get the unwanted situation off his hands and into others'.

Remus, Moody, Tonks, Arthur and Molly were in the room within record time, and with a short explanation from Vernon, Molly set to work. Though not a qualified healer, she _was_ mother and therefore the best suitable for the job.

Despite her efforts (and those of the others), they couldn't save him.

On 7:59 pm that night, not even a month after the death of his Godfather, Harry James Potter was dead.

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**TBC...**

**A/N: Dodges flying knives. Heh heh. Yes, I killed Harry Potter. Something which even Lord Voldemort can't boast of doing. I've got to say I'm almost proud of myself. ;)**

**Don't forget to review me with your comments and opinions (and even death threats if you really are that angry)!**

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	2. What Will We Do Without You, Now?

**A/N: Alright, here's a new chapter on The Art of Letting Go! I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry for my periods of absence here. I love my fanfics, but some days I just gotta work on my originals. And others I just can't work at all. :(**

**Ah well. You want info on updates and such? Check out my lj, it will usually be updated immediately after I post (you can find the link in my info). **

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**The Art of Letting Go**

**Chapter One: What Will We Do Without You, Now?**

_How could this happen?_ The words were weighing heavily on each of their minds, but none dared to speak in the moments that had passed.

_How could we have let it?_ Words also occupying the minds of the witches and wizards assembled in The-Boy-Who-Lived's room, those too remaining silent.

She felt warm tears tracking her cheeks as she sat next to the boy she had for so long seen as a son. Molly Weasley had failed. She failed one of her son's to his death. She reached out a trembling hand to place on top of his head. The unruly hair felt soft under her fingers, unkempt like a wily child's, yet much less tamable.

She couldn't save him, not this time. She'd tried, oh Merlin she tried. But she wasn't a trained healer. How could she save a life when all she was trained to heal were minor injuries?

"Molly." Her name was said in a whisper, as if its speaker was afraid to break the silence of the room. She did not reply, simply running her hand through the dark black hair of the boy on the bed beside her.

"My child, why'd you have to go?" she sobbed, feeling the start in those around her. They had not expected her to speak. She almost recoiled when she felt her husbands arms circling around her, only relaxing into them when the pain became too much. More tears.

Her son was dead. She could not pinpoint the exact moment when the thought that he was her son had first crossed her mind. It had always been glaringly obvious that the pair were not related, that Harry was as independent as any adult. But she still _felt_ it, the love one can only feel for their child. Molly had always tried to protect him, give him back the boyhood he had lost. He had never wanted it, not when it came down to it.

She had always hoped that he may have felt for her like he would his own mother. She knew the truth, though. Harry had a mother and she was dead. He could never love Molly in that way. She never blamed him for it, of course. She knew that he questioned her love in him. How couldn't he with the fact that she let him be sent to the Dursleys year after year?

When the bedroom door slammed open, revealing Albus Dumbledore and his healer no doubt, she began to laugh. A hysterical, barking laugh one can only obtain will under such deep stress as Molly was in. She felt Arthur's deep intake of breath, recognizing the worry emanating from him.

"Its too late, Albus," Moody said gruffly. Even he seemed near to tears.

One of her sons was dead. Her worst fear personified.

The laughter once again turned to tears.

-.-

"Dad, what's wrong?" Ron Weasley asked quickly upon seeing his distraught parents enter the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Who was it this time?" his sister, Ginny, asked softly. The true fighting had begun over the past couple of weeks of the summer, escalating slowly. She had known it would only be a matter of time before one close to her family would be struck down.

Arthur looked at his two children while gently guiding his wife into a seat at the table. She stared out into the distance blankly, perhaps not even recognizing where she was. Ginny's father did not speak for some time, simply standing there, his hands resting on Molly's shoulders. "Dad?" Ginny prodded.

He hesitated, his stare alternating between her and her brother. _Who is it?_ her mind desperately cried. She knew the truth would not be good. _Tell me! Who was it this time?!?! _

"Harry Potter." As if in answer to her thoughts, her father spoke. He said the words that the entire wizarding world was praying they never would her. _Harry Potter is dead._

The thought seemed strange, incomprehensible. How is it that such a boy could die? He was Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who could face down the worst of all evils and come out of it unscathed. Harry Potter didn't _die. _Death was for lesser boys than he. And yet, yet, Harry Potter was dead. Ginny was suddenly glad that she was sitting down. Elsewise her legs would have buckled by now.

"H-how?" Ron's strangled voice slashed through her heart and mind, tearing to pieces the little bits of strength that she had retained after hearing of such news. She glanced over at him to see the silent tears streaming down his pale cheeks. She wanted to offer her brother something- anything that could take the pain away, but she could not even ease her own.

Her father was silent for a much longer interval this time. He did not cry, simply standing there as a stone figure, pain deeply etched into the lines of his face. The pair of them- her mum and dad- were silent as dolls placed into the kitchen for a strange decoration, neither moved, neither spoke, they simply were. The pain in them was more than Ginny thought she could bear. But she did not cry, she supposed she was much like a doll also.

After the silence had stretched among them for several minutes, the answer was spoken.

"Suicide. Harry Potter killed himself."

Ron's face paled considerably, his blue eyes widening in horror. Ginny winced in sympathy, ignoring for a moment her own pain at the words. This was his best pal. And he'd killed himself. It was enough to lose a friend, but to suicide...

Ginny stood from her seat, walking over to her brother. He was stock-still, the horror still all too present on his face. She pulled him from his chair and into her embrace. Both began to cry, letting go of the terrible grief. Holding on to each other, the brother and sister weathered together the storm of loss.

-.-

Hermione Granger laughed as her little cousin Jodi chased Crookshanks around her room. The little girl and her parents were staying with the Grangers for a couple of weeks while their house was fumigated. The family had discovered a cockroach in their basement and feared that more would come.

So for the next two weeks Hermione would be rooming with the seven year old Jodi. The Gangers only had one guestroom and that was where Hermione's aunt and uncle would be staying.

Jodi was an energetic blonde, taking after her mother in looks and her father in personality. She had quickly fallen for the half-kneazle, much to his chagrin. She'd been attempting to play with Crookshanks for the past half hour. The most she'd gotten out of him was a scratch on the hand.

She was about to save the poor cat when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Jodi cried despite the fact that she really didn't live in this house. Hermione let out a giggle as she followed the bouncing girl out of her room and down the stairs towards the door.

The little girl flung the door open with relish, grinning at the visitor. Hermione felt her jaw drop as she stared into the face of the last person she would have ever expected a visit from, including but not limited to Orlando Bloom, the ice-cream man, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer and the president of the United States. "Hullo sir!" Jodi piped up at the dark haired man.

None other than Severus Snape stood in her doorway. He was wearing a black turtle neck, black slacks, combat boots and a black duster. She wondered briefly if was familiar with muggle movies, seeing as how he looked as if he'd stepped out of one. All he needed was the sunglasses and he could pass for an action hero.

"Hello, child," he spoke in a calm manner.

"Jodi, sweetheart," Hermione started, "I'll take care of it. Will you go and tell my mum that we have a visitor to attend to?" The girl smiled and nodded, bouncing away with a quick smile at Hermione's professor.

"Ms. Granger, you must pack. We will be leaving for Headquarters immediately," he spoke up, stepping forward to enter the home.

"How do I know you're truly who you appear to be?" she countered quickly, standing in his way.

"Ms. Granger, we do not have the time for this! Terrible things have happened and you must be moved to a safe place as soon as possible!" His eyes glowed with a mix between anger and determination.

"I'm sorry professor, but I must be sure before I risk the endangerment of my family." Hermione steeled herself, knowing full well that the man before her, Snape or not, could easily harm her if he wished.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

She stared at him for a second before it hit her. _Of course!_ How could she forget that question? She stepped aside and let him in. "Quickly, Ms. Granger, time is not on our side!" She rushed past her mother- who had just entered the hall- and up the stairs to pack.

Snape's introduction of himself floated up the steps behind her, "Hello, I am Professor Severus Snape, one of Hermione's teachers. I'm afraid she must be moved to a safe-house, if you will. Terrible things have happened recently and your daughter is in grave danger." She had a sneaking suspicion that her mother would not like Severus Snape.

**TBC....**

**A/N: I'd actually planned to finish Hermione's scene in this chapter, but it didn't work out that way. Shrug I hope you all had happy holidays!**

**Reviewer Responses**

**LizaGirl: Thank you. Harry would have had longer, if there had been at least one experienced healer there. The Order members that were there could do little to help him, since even Molly didn't know very much about healing such a terrible wound.**

**Potter4prez: It is rather fun killing him... Erm... I meant depressing, really I did.**

**colie: Thank you.**

**elvengirl: Heh. Heh. I did, didn't I?**

**Loki10125: Thanks!**

**The-Bass-Player312: Eyes pop. I'm loved! Hmm...**

**Meaghan: Thank you. More on why Harry did it will be explained later.**

**Don't forget to review!!**


	3. Here Comes the Grimm Reaper

**A/N: It's been a while since this one has been updated. But I hope to have all my WIP's updated within the next couple of weeks. A special hug and "thank you" to all of my readers and reviewers!**

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**The Art of Letting Go**

**Chapter Two: Here Comes the Grimm Reaper **

As she and Snape apparated in front of Twelve Grimmauld Place, Hermione couldn't help but think that there was much more to the situation than the Potions Master was letting on. He seemed_ grimmer_ than usual, if that were possible. And she'd been in grave danger for quite some time, yet the Order had never brought her to Headquarters in such a way before.

She stepped forward to enter the house, but hesitated upon realizing that Snape wasn't coming with her. "Sir?" she questioned, turning to look at the dark wizard behind her.

He frowned with- was that _sympathy?_ "This is something you have to face alone, Ms. Granger." He disapparated and Hermione felt a deep chill in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't understand what was going on. She didn't want to enter Headquarters. _Why couldn't he go with me? Why wouldn't he?_ She didn't want to face this when Snape himself was too afraid to! But nonetheless, she pushed the large wooden door open and stepped inside the house.

An eerie silence washed over her. _Where was everyone?_ She moved forward, striding towards the kitchen, where everyone seemed to flock at most points. The sight that filled her view upon her entrance of that room spiked her dread to the breaking point. Arthur Weasley held his shaking wife, tears tracking down both their faces. Ginny knelt beside her brother Ron as the held onto each other for dear life. "What happened?" she asked the silent foursome, who looked as if someone had just died. '_Which someone probably did,' _her mind supplied her.

Arthur looked up at her with an expression of heartbreaking grief and pity. "Maybe you should sit down, dear," her told her gently.

"I'm fine. Please- just tell me what's going on!" she cried.

"It's Harry." _No- please God, tell me it's not- _"He killed himself this evening."

It was. One of her two best friends was dead. "No. _No._ **_NO!_** Please, tell me this is a joke!"

"'Mione," Ron whispered from his place in his sister's arms. "It's true."

Her legs gave out from beneath her and she tumbled to the floor sobbing. "No.No.No." she said in some sort of chant. '_Yes.Yes.Yes.'_ her traitorous mind replied.

"'Mione, you're going to be okay," Ginny soothed, pulling the distraught girl over to the siblings. Thus Hermione found herself in a three way embrace with her best friend and her only girl friend. "We're all going to be okay. We're going to be fine. You'll see."

Hermione was glad for her friend's constant speech, for her comforting words. Because she wasn't sure how she would have stayed grounded without them.

-.-

Severus Snape stalked up to the door of a small woodland cottage, owned by the grandmother of none other than Neville, Let's Blow Up Some Cauldrons, Longbottom. Once again he was to play the bloody Grimm Reaper, wearing his muggle clothes and not his usual scowl, leading Albus's poor lambs to the death bed of The-Boy-Who-Was-Supposed-To-Live.

Before he was given the chance to knock, the door opened, and there Longbottom was, as confused and terrified as ever. "Pr-professor?"

"Yes," he replied as his scowl deepened. "It is I. Pack your things. You will not be staying here this summer, I will be transporting you to a safe house."

"But _why?"_

"That will be explained in time. Now, go! I have one more stop to make after you and we _must _get going!" Wordlessly, the boy complied. Severus let out a soft sigh. _This was going to be a long day._

With Longbottom in tow, Severus got the last member of Potter's merry men, Luna Lovegood. Dumbledore had come under the suspicion that the five who'd followed Potter to the Ministry would be some of the Dark Lord's first targets, or at the very least some of his targets, and bid Severus to collect them. Dumbledore himself was in the not-so-envious position of having to inform the rest of the Order _and_ the incompetent witches and wizards who fashioned themselves the Ministry of Magic. Yes, given the option, Severus would much rather complete his own task.

-.-

It had been two days. Two days since one of his best friends had left him. Two days since he'd lost the strength to smile. Two days since he had to explain to Luna and Neville that Harry was, in fact, _dead_. Two days.

Funeral arrangements had already begun, though Rom took no part in them. He didn't want to choose what his friend would be wearing when he entered in the ground- what he would sleep in for all of eternity. And nobody forced him to make such choices.

Fred and George had offered to pay for the memorial, and told their parents not to spare any expense. As Harry had not spared any when he decided to back up their shop.

Despite the fullness of the house, and despite the fact that he wasn't, Ron felt alone. He felt guilty, as if it were he who'd slit the wrists of his friend and not the friend himself.

He'd always been slightly jealous of Harry. There were few guys who weren't. Harry had had the kind of life that little boys dream of having. The life of a worshipped hero. Ron knew that his friend hadn't had a perfect life, and felt for the boy who'd been forced to be a hero. Yet, at the same time he'd always wanted to be him too.

Now he knew better. Whilst Ron had his family to lean on, who did Harry have? His godfather? Sirius was dead! Dumbledore? No, the man had hurt Harry too much for that trust. Ron's own parents? He barely saw them a month of every year!

Ron had just never realized that while he envied Harry... That Harry might have envied him also. Now he really couldn't doubt it.

"Ron?" A voice called from the doorway of his bedroom.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." Ron moved over to allow his friend to sit on the bed also.

"I really miss him." She confessed as she sat down beside him. "And I wonder- can't help but wonder if this was my fault..."

"Yea. Me too." For a long time the pair sat in silence. There wasn't really anything more to say now. Harry was dead. Words couldn't bring him back.

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TBC...**

**A/N:Sniffle Sniffle: I actually almost cried while writing this chapter. Hermione was actually the toughest to write in such a depressed state. I tried to make her a little more not-in-control than I did the others, simply because she's almost always in control. Ron was easier to write, as strange as that may be (before this story I'd never written Ron).**

**But anyways, I hope you enjoyed!**

**Don't forget to Review to tell me what you think! You all should know by now how much I love your input!**


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